Fidelity
by mynightshining
Summary: /CHAPTER TEN UP!\ Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care about her, worry about her, and loathe as he was to admit it, love her. MxM
1. Expectations

**Author's Notes:** So…um, I know people are going to kill me for not working on ATF, but hey, I've been inspired! I hope you like it. Story will be mildly happier later on. Just stick with it and maybe I will too! "Seizing" is used in the context of "to affect suddenly: overwhelm."

**Summary:** Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care.

**Rating:** PG-13 (Rating may change in later chapters)

**Fidelity**

**Chapter 1: Expectations**

Two hours after the storm blew in, two hours after Mahiru left the bar, Mitsuru finally found her. Not like he was worried or anything, he was just following orders… orders that didn't need to be said. She had left rather abruptly, but that's understandable considering recent events. After spending the day isolated in her room, she emerged only to leave as the storm clouds rolled over head. Oboro had given Mitsuru the look, the You-Better-Keep-Her-Safe-Or-Else look that sent shivers down Mitsuru's spine… not that he would ever confess to that. Consequently, Mitsuru made up the dumb excuse of Mahiru forgetting her jacket, so he could follow her without looking like he gave a damn about her.

Within seconds he found her in the park, her blue pendant reflecting the eerie light of the snow. He released a breath through his teeth hissing in irritation. That damn pendant, not mention the girl wearing it too, was the cause of allhis inner turmoil. Not that he would confess to that either…

The snow swirled around Mahiru as she sat still on the bench. Her eyes, blank, hollow, and emotionless, scanned over the grey scenery. If she knew he was there, she didn't give any indication.

Drawing up the nerve to do _something_ instead of just standing there, Mitsuru held out her jacket so it was in her sight, but Mahiru continued to stare straight ahead, as if the jacket wasn't there. Clearing his throat loudly, he moved the jacket towards her again. A slight hope that the movement would draw her eye flittered across his mind.

"You forgot your coat." Silence wrapped its creeping tendrils around him for the extent of his words and Mitsuru's normally gruff voice wavered to nothing more than a whisper. But she still did not acknowledge him. He rolled his eyes; of course Mahiru would act this way. Grudgingly, because he had to spend more time with her than he wished, but silent and respectful of her need to be wallowing in self pity, he sat on the other side of the bench.

The snow swirled, dancing around them. Mitsuru scowled. Stupid snow, dancing and what not.

Mitsuru hated dancing.

He hated the snow because it danced.

He hated humans and their stupid emotions.

He hated Mahiru—but not really—only for show.

But most of all, he hated Nozomu for hurting Mahiru. He hated Nozomu so much, that if he was here, Mitsuru would have him die a thousand deaths, all in very painful, very time consuming ways.

Ten minutes of silence passed and neither of them moved. That was, until he heard her sniffle. He turned towards her to see if she was crying. He hated crying. It was worse, of course, when it was a girl crying, because he had no idea what to do.

Mitsuru never liked to pray, but as he turned towards Mahiru, he prayed that she wasn't crying.

_It's stupid_, he thought, as his prayer (_Please don't let her cry!) _repeated over and over again. _All girls cry, Mahiru is no exception. It's bound to happen anyway. After all it's been three days and she hasn't shown one emotion to any of us_.

As he focused on her face he realized with surprise that Mahiru was not crying. He should have known, though. Mahiru _is_ an exception. She's strong, mentally and physically, and a stupid betrayal wouldn't hurt her as much as he thinks.

"You're not crying?" He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but then again, there were a lot of things he hadn't meant to do recently and ended up doing. Take the blue pendant around her neck, for example. He hadn't meant to give it to her. The pendant was his mother's and it was the only thing besides her wedding ring that Mitsuru had left of her. Not that he cared, or anything like that, his mother abandoned him. Mitsuru hated his mother just like he hated Mahiru. Nevertheless, hatred didn't change the fact that he had given Mahiru the pendant, on her birthday of all days, long before the betrayal.

The sound of her voice, strong only because it had to be, strong only because she was weak, frail, and breaking inside, echoed through the thick cold air, stopping Mitsuru's train of thought, long before it reached the caboose.

"No. I'm not."

It was strange seeing her detached from the world, dead to everything around her. Mitsuru remembered when Mahiru lived in the hospital for two weeks plagued with pneumonia; even then she had felt so alive. Now, though, her life and everyone else's who lived at the Moonshine was anything but alive. Unfeeling and uncaring, Mahiru had wandered around the bar like a ghost. She refused to sleep, for fear that _He_ would return to finish the job.

The betrayal hurt everyone.

It hurt her more.

To this day Mitsuru still doesn't know why he did it. After all, he hates humans and he hates her more so.

Maybe it was because she looked unsubstantial, felt unreal, and sounded detached.

Maybe it was because the pretty scarf she wore around her neck to hide the bite was off center.

Maybe it was because she hadn't touched anyone in three days.

Maybe he just needed to know she was _real_.

Or maybe it was something entirely different.

But what caused him to touch her changed their lives for the better… or worse.

Mitsuru's fingers brushed over the back of her neck, like spiders, like the wind. Mahiru's eyes widened like severing plates, grief seeped from her pupils outward, drowning her eyes in unshed tears. The feel of Mitsuru's fingers unexpected and painful sent shivers across her body. Horrid,_ Taste you…_ Horrid, _Need to taste you…_ Horrid memories flooded through her of the last time she was touched _A__ body pressed against hers, fitting in all the wrong places, unnatural, not right_… Memories _Sharp teeth… Blood…_ Flashing in random orders as the pain surfaced.

Slower than a snail a million searing needles, all small and sharp, poked through her heart. Each breath she took tripled the pain, tripled the needles, sending her nerves into shock. Her breath shortened trying to stop everything from hurting. The bite pulsing with the needle beats of her heart. Little did she know, her emotions had festered inside her and once they were allowed out there was no way to stop them. Yet, in all this pain, she did not cry.

Mitsuru placed his palm where her shoulders and neck met hoping it would wipe the pained look off her face, hoping it would stop her from crying. Despite all his hopes, his gesture caused more pain, and tears spilled down her face.

He froze. She was crying and he didn't know what to do. He expected more from her than that. However, little did Mitsuru know that he would have to learn to not expect anything from anyone, because it hurts when the people we expect things from, don't live up to our expectations.

With his fail-safe on hand—hating everything that crossed his path—and turned on 'full,' he hadn't expected his hand to start rubbing slow soothing circles on her back. Still, not only did he hate her for being _her_ and being human, he hated her for crying. He hated her for making him care about her, worry about her, and loathe as he was to admit it,_ love _her.

He thought she was strong still, because she hadn't flung herself onto him for comfort.

He thought she was strong because after three days of avoiding the touch of others she hadn't ripped herself away.

Mahiru cried, and cried, and cried, and when there was no strength left in her she sought out the strength of the man beside her. Like a flower giving way to the winter's frost, she melted down. Her head resting on his thighs, tears soaking through his jeans. Gently, he placed the jacket over her seizing, convulsing, frail body, trying to ignore the thought of where her head rested.

Mitsuru thought she was still strong because not once had she pulled away from him, not once did she plead for everything to be back to normal. She just cried. He respected her, because after everything she was _still_ strong.

His hand continued to circle over her back. Somehow this felt right; it felt normal to be here, with her.

Mitsuru thought he hated her, but he couldn't hate someone he respected.

He couldn't hate someone he loved.

The snow fluttered, danced, and swayed around the two lone figures sitting on the bench, until the first color of dawn peeked through the grey clouds.


	2. One Long Night

**Author's Notes:** Woohoo! Chapter two! Hey, that rhymes! Thanks to my wonderful reviewers, you make me happy.

**Summary:** Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care.

**Rating:** PG-13 (Rating may change in later chapters)

**Fidelity**

**Chapter 2: One Long Night**

At six fifty-three in the morning, Mitsuru and company barged into Mahiru's room. The only reason anyone knew it was six fifty-three in the morning was because Mitsuru was bickering with Akira about when to wake her up.

"She's only been asleep for an hour, Akira! Leave her alone."

"An hour?" Akira snickered. The card board box he carried was discarded in hopes of being the first one to get to Mahiru just to make Mitsuru jealous. Akira knew what the pendant around her neck meant and wasn't going to let Mitsuru forget it. "Busy much?"

Mitsuru tried not to blush, he really did, but trying does nothing when you're on the receiving end of a perverted joke. "We were at the park," he was more defensive than he needed to be, Akira realized. "She fell asleep on the bench. I brought her home. _Nothing happened_."

Akira smirked. "Whatever." He sat on the edge of Mahiru's bed. "Either way, she has to wake up now so she can eat before we leave. We were nice enough to even let her sleep when you two came back."

Mitsuru thought for a moment, it always took him a moment to respond to Akira's wise cracks. Now, what would be the perfect retort to—ah yes!

"At least she didn't hurl a rock at my face, now did she?"

Akira was immediately on the defense. "Shut-up, lover boy!"

Mitsuru grunted as he grabbed Akira's card board box and dragged it to the chest-of-drawers. Clothes sprouted from the drawers, with the helping hands of Mitsuru, and into the card board box. Furtively, he watched Akira trying to wake Mahiru. Possessive thoughts, thoughts he knew he shouldn't be having about a girl he hated, surfaced the moment Akira touched her. After everything that happened, Mitsuru believed she would be much safer with him, and only him, around. Mitsuru knew who he was, and he wasn't about to betray her like the Vampire did. He couldn't trust anyone any more, except maybe her. But he didn't _want_ to trust her, not consciously anyway. The subconscious was a whole other story.

By the time Mitsuru reached Mahiru's Unmentionables Drawer, Akira had succeeded in waking Mahiru up. Mahiru, in the haze of waking sleep, hadn't realized she was being touched, by a man, no less. When she did though, she flinched away from Akira's hand on her shoulder. She may have been less emotional and reclusive, but she still didn't like being touched. Being touched brought on too many memories of _That_ night. She never wanted to remember what happened _That_ night ever again.

Akira respectfully moved away from Mahiru to grab a box from the hall. She watched as he began placing her personal items in the box.

Mitsuru felt a sort of morbid fascination as Mahiru flinched away from Akira. She didn't flinch away from Mitsuru last night. In fact, she had willingly placed herself on top of him. Then again she was a little distraught, just a little. It's not like she cried for four hours before she fell asleep in his lap. Oh no, not like that at all.

Mitsuru smirked, deep down in the forgotten teen-age mind of his, he realized that he was rifling through Mahiru's underwear—on a noble basis, of course. He wasn't perverted or anything. He wasn't like Akira—now, _he_ had some problems too tainted to mention. At least that's how Akira acted when there weren't girls around.

But the fact that he was going through her underwear seemed a little wrong. Especially since he had no connection to her, no feelings for her, except hate. Well, maybe not hate, he had already decided that he couldn't hate her anymore. After what had happened last night, Mitsuru was more confused than before. He knew he didn't like her, much less like-like her, but he didn't understand why his heart beat an extra beat every time she said his name, or why he'd feel all tingly when she touched him, or why he liked being around her, or why he had given her than damned pendant, on her birthday no less. It was too much for him to comprehend.

He tried not to look pleased when Mahiru's voice, hoarse from crying all night and having only an hour's sleep, drifted over to him. No matter what anyone said, he thought her voice was always beautiful, even when she was sick and rasping for breath.

"What's going on?" Her eyes were scratchy, red and watery from lack of sleep. She brought a hand to her cheek when she realized it burned from the salt of her last-night-tears.

Akira noticed that she was talking directly to Mitsuru, when normally she refused to say a single syllable to anyone. Believe it or not, like it or not, something happened last night between the two of them, it wasn't hard to see.

"We've been compromised." Mitsuru snarled, chucking a pair of socks into the overflowing box, venting his anger on the defenseless clothing instead of the real person he wanted to torture. The change in his demeanor was apparent to the two other occupants of the room. Akira knew how much the subject of Nozomu's betrayal effected Misturu. It was no secret to anyone, but the actual reason why was known only by Akira; the reason, the one and only Mahiru.

Mahiru didn't need any more of an explanation than that. She knew at some point they'd be found out and they'd have to move immediately. There wasn't a hard guess about who gave up the position either. Only those who lived at the Moon Shine, with the exception of Keiko, knew of the Lunar Race's Tokyo Head Quarters. Nozomu, missing for three days (or was it four days, now), was the only one to break the Loyalty Contract in ages.

Mahiru shuddered. They were being hunted, and Nozomu was probably leading the charge. He wanted her and he wouldn't stop at anything to get to her. She was brought out of her thoughts when a pair of jeans, t-shirt, bra and underwear landed on her head.

A voice that was unmistakably Mitsuru's cut through the black haze. "Get dressed, now."

Mahiru pulled the offending articles of clothing from her head, one of them being a black bra—a very black bra, complete with lace and a matching bottom. Swallowing hard, as a blush spread over her entire face, she chucked the lacy number back at a very smug looking Mitsuru.

That… _thing…_ definitely wasn't hers. "That's not mine." Her voice cracked from embarrassment.

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Mitsuru spoke, defensive amusement dripping from his voice, "It was in your drawer."

"It's still not mine!"

"Whatever you say, Princess," Mitsuru smirked placing the clothing in the box.

Akira, who had watched the exchange, could not keep a smile from forming on his face, even in these dire circumstances. "Mitsuru, let's go so she can change." He turned to Mahiru, "Keiko's heating up some food for you. Come down stairs when you're ready."

Mahiru nodded, trying to keep her tomato red face from showing, as the boys exited her room. She heard Akira whisper to Mitsuru "That was low," and Mitsuru respond defensively "It was in her drawer!"

0

Keiko had come running from the Dawn's Venus Head Quarters the moment Nozomu showed up. Her Medium-Sight showed her everything she needed to know about what had happened. Nozomu had lost control to put it in the lightest terms possible and Dawn's Venus used it to their advantage.

At two twenty-six in the morning, Keiko literally ran into the Moon Shine's door. It took her a moment to realize it was locked and there was no way of getting in without help. She climbed over the back fence and into the neighbor building's back yard, where rocks were strewn all over the ground. Faster than a jack rabbit, Keiko scooped up a handful of rocks and proceeded to pelt them at Akira's window. Doubt was starting bubble to the surface. Maybe they had already been captured. She refused to think that her powers were finally giving out on her.

She picked up her second to last rock, bigger than the size of her fist and hurled it at the window. For a second she thought it whistled through the air. There was a resounding crash as the rock missed it's target and hit the siding above the window instead.

Keiko's heart raced, any second her dick of a fiançé would call for her to Read Nozomu, to make sure he was telling the truth. Any second she would be discovered as the leak, any second there would be a price on her head, like all the others. But none of that mattered now. She had to get Akira to _wake up_ so she could tell them of the impending danger. She grabbed another rock, not much bigger than the size of her thumb and threw it at the window, only…

"Ow! Mother Fu-That hurt!" Akira stood in the window rubbing his forehead.

"Sorry!" Keiko called up to him. She really didn't like the thought of being the one to irreparably damage her boyfriend by throwing rocks at him.

"Keiko? What are you doing here?" He hissed.

"I need to talk to Oboro. Now."

"Why?"

"You've been betrayed." Her voice wasn't much louder than a whisper, but it carried between the buildings and flowed into Akira's ear.

That was all Akira needed to hear. He jumped out the window grabbed Keiko and flew back inside the house, immediately leading her to Oboro's room. Thank the Gods-That-Be, Oboro was home tonight. As they passed Mahiru's room, with the door wide open, he noticed that she and Mitsuru still hadn't returned home. This was going to be one long night.


	3. Without

**Author's Notes:** Okay, I give. I've been holding this chapter because it doesn't feel right to me. I'm posting the part that I know works. You people have been waiting long enough. I seriously think I should stay on the one-shot route but I have so many ideas. N'eh oh well.

I'm living in Hollywood now. Very interesting place, I must say. There's a lot of tinsel, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's shiny.

**Summary:** Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care.

**Rating:** PG-13 (Rating may change in later chapters)

**Fidelity**

**Chapter 3: Without**

After Mahiru changed, she made her way downstairs, silently—perfectly silent and wraith-like that Mitsuru and Akira didn't realize she was down stairs until Keiko said good morning. They turned in time to see Mahiru nod passively in return, worrying the hem of her black hooded sweatshirt with her slim fingers. Akira raised an eyebrow and looked at Mitsuru. She was back into the no talking phase, when only moments ago she was fighting with Mitsuru over her clothing, which, Mitsuru noticed, was not what he picked out for her. She wore long, black, baggy, sweat pants that had rolled up cuffs because they were too long, and thick wool socks covered her feet. A blue shirt peaked out from underneath a gigantic, black, hooded sweatshirt. Mitsuru knew the shirt Mahiru wore was the baggiest shirt she owned with sleeves that extended far beyond her fingers.

He watched as Mahiru scanned the bar wide-eyed, surprised to see that all the liveliness and warmth had evaporated from the Moonshine. It looked desolate, abandoned, never lived in at all.

White. Everything was so _white_. Like eggs, like the knee-deep snow outside, like Akira's "I Love New York" t-shirt. Glowing white on the unmarked, unnaturally clean walls of the Moonshine, reflected off Mahiru's pale face, the only part of her body showing. White sheets draped over the tables and chairs resembling an army of ghosts; one ghost for each person who step foot inside the Moonshine. The couches were in the bed of the truck, the plants in the van, the glasses and appliances in boxes filling the two gigantic trailers sitting outside. Everything had been wiped down, disinfected, bleached, and burned.

_To leave no trace…_Mahiru remembered Oboro telling her when she first moved in. _So they can't track us if we need to leave. They won't even know we were here._

_Like ghosts,_ Mahiru thought sadly.

Mahiru looked around the bar again. It was the death of the Moonshine, and it was all her fault. If only she'd been stronger, if only she'd—her eyes started to burn—if only she had done something, _anything,_ her friends wouldn't be in this dreadful situation. Her eyes stung as if sand scrapped behind her eyelids. She wouldn't cry. Not again. Not after last night. She refused to cry.

Akira and Mitsuru passed her, heading for the stairs, pulling her out of her dark thoughts. Her shiver and suddenly hunched shoulders didn't go unnoticed. Mitsuru's brow furrowed. He wasn't going to hurt her, so why did she keep thinking he would? He sighed inaudibly, frustrated because she was frightened of _him_—the one person she could trust with all her heart… maybe not all her heart, not yet. It was too much to ask for, and Mitsuru had never thought to ask.

"Oboro took the microwave before I could heat anything up." Keiko said apologetically, noticing Mahiru's discomfort. "But I did manage to grab these before they threw them in the garbage bags." In her hands were two granola bars, and a water bottle. Keiko moved so she stood in front of Mahiru, mindful of her personal space issues.

Mahiru tried to voice her thanks but the words hung in her throat, choking her. A nod was all Keiko got for her trouble. Mahiru felt horrible for not being able to tell her thanks.

Keiko understood.

Oh, how she understood.

_The blood, the bite, the screams… _

She smiled kindly at Mahiru, and handed her the food. "We're going to split up until we reach Otsu, where we'll spend the night. Chino is the first check in station. Eat some food, and fill up. Nagoya's next, and in Otsu Oboro will give us a briefing."

A door slammed up stairs and the two girls could hear Akira and Mitsuru fighting.

"I said shut-up!" Akira started to speak but Mitsuru cut him off. "Take the boxes down stairs. I'll wipe down the door."

"I was just trying to help." Akira grumbled.

"I don't need your goddamn help, Akira. Lay off."

"Get bent." Seconds later Akira appeared in his demon form carrying three huge boxes. He winked at the confused girls and set the boxes down. Mitsuru grunted from the stair well and Akira had less than a second to realize that two very big, very brown blurry boxes, were heading straight towards him. He braced himself and caught them without breaking a sweat.

"Thanks, Mitsuru." Akira snapped sarcastically. "That was helpful."

Oboro waltzed in as if he hadn't a care in the world, as if the Moonshine wasn't in trouble, before Mitsuru had a chance to retort. Oboro was frighteningly normal. Mahiru's slight irritation gave way to guilt and anger for her own weakness. She had no right to be angry, even if it was at Mitsuru for doing something stupid. They did, though. Oboro, Mitsuru, Akira, Katsura, and Misoka had every right to be angry, to throw her on the curb, and let her freeze to death, but they didn't and that eased her aching heart slightly.

Nothing that happened was her fault. It was Nozomu's, and Nozomu's alone; Oboro had told her that. His first words to her after the attack had been an opposing echo of her most poisonous thoughts. It wasn't her fault.

"Everything wiped down?" Oboro asked grabbing the last boxes and gesturing for some help.

"Spick and span. Squeaky clean. Not a speck of—"

"Okay, Akira. I get it. You're done. Let's go."

Mitsuru was the last one out in order to wipe down the door. He watched casually as Mahiru walked up to the truck. A baby blue van bursting at the seams pulled up with Katsura in his male form, smiling behind dark sunglasses, driving.

Katsura nodded to Oboro and drove off into the chilly dawn air.

Mahiru followed Oboro to the truck. The only car left. Mahiru was a little confused as to why Katsura drove off so abruptly, but didn't give it a second thought.

Oboro got in the truck, started the ignition, and as Mahiru made for the passenger side door, he drove off.

Mahiru stood stunned.

He drove off…

…Without them.


	4. Turn

**Author's Notes:** Here's another part of the tale. Enjoy.

**Summary:** Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care.

**Rating:** PG-13 (Rating may change in later chapters)

**Fidelity**

**Chapter 4: Turn**

Mahiru stood staring at the cloud of exhaust the truck had left behind, her hand still extended to where the door handle had been. Her fingers twitched, slowly it dawned on her that they were stranded with Dawn's Venus less than an hour away. As the hairs on her neck stood up, she realized she didn't feel safe anymore.

"Let's go." A gruff male voice, an echo of another she never wished to remember, came from behind Mahiru. She flinched involuntarily at the close proximity. It was only Mitsuru, though, and he was giving her an odd look, one she couldn't quite place. In less than a second it was gone, and his normal defensive look took its place. He turned around and headed for the garage. Forgetting that Mahiru didn't like to talk to anyone, she blurted out her worries to the one person who infuriated her enough to forget what happened over the past few days.

"Oboro just drove off!" She squeaked, starting after him.

"So?"

"So, what are we going to do? Take a taxi?" She hissed as she matched her steps with his. How were they supposed to get to Chino if the only two cars the Moonshine owned were suddenly gone? Her nerves were getting the best of her as she quickly looked up and down the street.

"Hell no."

"Are we going to walk, in the snow? All the way to Chino?" She snapped. "'Cause if we are it's the other way." She threw her arm in the general direction of the street, granola packaging crinkling in her hands.

"Calm down." Mitsuru snapped back. "We're not that stupid."

Mahiru fumed. She hated it when people told her to calm down, because ninety-nine percent of the time she was calm. Like now, for example, she was as calm as the ocean during monsoon season. She was only a little upset because; one, people weren't telling her what was going on, and two, because she couldn't believe that Mitsuru would think that she thought they were stupid. They weren't, because, obviously, if they were stupid they wouldn't be alive right now.

Mitsuru reached the garage, with its doors wide open, Mahiru growling in tow, holding three motorcycles—one red, one dark green, one blue—and a black mustang.

Mitsuru kept walking until he reached the back table full of riding gear, but Mahiru stood dumbfounded, staring at the motorcycles and sexy, sleek mustang. How in the world did they get these-these…_these_? Where did they get the _money_ to buy them?

"Are you just going to stand there looking like a fish?" She turned to Mitsuru. "Get over here."

"I didn't know you had these."

"No one does, except for us."

"How…" She stopped speaking a little out of awe but mostly out of embarrassment because Akira and Keiko were giving her not-so-discrete glances.

"We built them." Mitsuru mumbled as he pulled on a leather jacket.

Keiko walked up to the red motorcycle. The metal was cool to the touch as she ran her fingers over the handlebars to the seat. It had been years since she had ridden a motorcycle, let alone seen one as powerful as these three. There were black bats covering the red plating and a metal bat of simple design was welded to the conjuncture of the handlebars. With a bit of sprucing and feminine touch, this bike would look like it came to earth as an angel from hell. She smirked mischievously.

"Can I have one?" She whispered to Akira, still in awe of the bikes. These were good bikes. Akira gave her an odd look. "I mean, well, one has to be Nozomu's right?" He nodded. "So, he can't really drive it, and we're not going to let a good bike go to waste are we?"

Akira whispered back. "I guess so…" He paused, unsure if what he was saying was the right thing. The bike was Nozomu's, and as much Akira hated that Nozomu betrayed them, he was still a brother to Akira. Giving away Nozomu's bike was like giving away his best friend, because that was all he had left of him.

"If you can ride it, Keiko, then yes, you may take the bike." Misoka answered heading to the Mustang. "Make sure you remove the homing device, and you're going to have to paint it before you get to Nagoya."

Keiko put on the helmet hanging on the bike. Akira grabbed his jacket and helmet. He grabbed Nozomu's jacket and handed it to Keiko.

"You'll need this." He stood by his blue bike, covered in running wolves, and shrugged into his jacket.

Mahiru stood looking at the forest green bike with apprehension. Mitsuru, who was irritated and annoyed that he had to take her with him, snatched her food from her hands and stuck it in the back compartment. He mounted the bike, failing to notice that Mahiru was still staring at the bike.

Mitsuru glared at her after a couple seconds of waiting. "We don't have all day, princess." Mahiru just looked at him. "Get on already!" He snapped.

There was no way she was riding on a motorcycle with two feet of snow outside. There was no way she was getting on one in the first place. Moreover, there was _no way_ she was going to ride the bike with another person on it, especially a male.

"Why can't I go in the mustang?"

"Because."

"Because, why?"

Mitsuru growled. "Because Misoka has to pick up some stuff. The car will be full until he can transfer the junk to the van, and that won't happen until Otsu. So get on."

"It'll be cold."

"I'll be blocking the wind."

"Do you know how many crashes involve motorcycles?" She asked as if it would decide whether she'd ride the bike.

"No, do you?" was Mitsuru's gruff reply.

"Lots." She stated as if it was the most scientific fact she'd ever known.

Mitsuru rolled his eyes. "I'm a good driver. So just _get on_." His gloved hands gripped the handles tight, the leather squeaking at the rough treatment. If he hadn't promised Misoka to be nice he would have thrown her over his lap and pealed out the garage all within seconds. But no! He had to make a stupid promise to Misoka to keep her safe and be patient with her. Mitsuru hated promises.

"That's not it. I-I—"

Mitsuru understood. Anger swarmed through his veins, pounding to be let out. She was afraid, not of the bike, but of him. There was nothing to be afraid of! He protected her for a year now, reluctantly of course, but he did. He'd die for her if it came down to it—not that he'd admit to that. _Ever_. He still would rather have everyone think he hated her. It was so much easier for Mitsuru to just hate someone and have them hate him back. Friendships were too complicated.

Mitsuru took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of his ricocheting emotions. Misoka's voice echoed through his head, _Be patient with her. That is all I ask._

With effort he schooled his voice to a low, semi-calm, murmur. "I won't hurt you." It offended him that he even had to say it in the first place. "You can trust me." He closed his eyes tight. He was going to make another promise, one he knew he would have to keep no matter what. Thank God he was wearing a helmet to hide his self-loathing. He _hated _promises. They always came back to bite him in the butt. It was the only way to get her on the damned machine though, and if that was the only way, he'd do it, for her safety and no one else's. "I'll keep you safe, I promise."

As irritating as it was to say it, to promise safety to this human, to _her_, he found he meant every word. He felt a little confused. Was he getting soft?

Her hands shook violently.

"Mahiru, what's wrong?" He didn't notice her eyes welling with unshed tears, but he did notice her fingers gripping each other, her knuckles white. "Mahiru?"

"I can't." She whispered almost too soft for him to hear.

"What?"

"I just can't, okay." Her voice cracked.

Mitsuru took off his helmet and got off the bike. He started towards her intending to calm her down, but every step he took she backed away. He could feel her fear growing, reaching out to all corners of the garage, reaching for a way out.

"Don't." she shook as her arms wrapped around her thinning body. Pleadingly, she stared at him. Her forearm still stung, ghostly fingers wrapped around flesh, muscle, and bone, closing in tighter and tighter. She could see him… _Taste you…_ coming nearer, pressing her against the wall, picture frames digging into her back. Memories… _Need to taste you…_ One's she'd like to forget… _You will be mine!_ Flashed past her eyes. _Don't_ "Don't." _Please don't…_ "I don't—I don't… I don't want to remember." Her back brushed the wall. "P-Please… Please, can I go with Misoka?"

Mitsuru started at her, numb. He never thought he'd cause her this much pain. He nodded, seeing every ounce of fear in her eyes, and knowing he was the one to trigger her memories. He looked over at Misoka, who was already inside the mustang waiting to make sure everyone was ready to go. Without a word, he turned from her.


	5. Room 245

**Author's Note:** Whoot! Chapter 5! Just watched _Ultraviolet_, awesome fight scenes, makes me happy.

I have livejournal now! This fic is the only one posted for the time being, until I get used to livejournal mojo.

User name: rayerei URL: http// rayerei. live journal. com/

Just remove the spaces.

This is a semi-rough draft. There will be revisions made in the future. Just keep that in mind.

**Summary:** Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care.

**Rating:** PG-13 (Rating may change in later chapters)

**Fidelity**

**Chapter 5: Room 245**

Outside it was snowing lightly, as if shreds of rice paper just drifted down from the grey clouds at their own leisurely pace. Few cars were on the road at this time of night and even fewer with the weather. Snow blanketed the freeway. Windshield wipers moved at nice slow even rhythm that matched the low thrum and purr of the car's engine. As the car slowly pushed its way through the snow and onto the off-ramp, Mahiru stirred. Her head rested against the cold window, her cheeks flushed from the frost seeping through the glass. The passenger window fogged from her slow even breaths.

The car slowed to a stop and she opened her sleep leaden eyes. Green lights from the dashboard danced in front of her eyes. Three twenty-three in the morning, oh joy. She blinked slowly trying to wake herself up enough to move. The car started forward. She shifted in her seat to look out the window.

"We're almost there," Misoka whispered from the driver's seat.

Mahiru nodded and pressed her forehead against the glass, her bottom lip in-between her teeth. Lights—red, blue, white, green and yellow—blurred together as they made their way through the empty streets, the snow still creeping down.

What a long day. She sighed and shifted in her seat again. It hadn't taken Misoka much convincing to let her come with him, though, he stated plain and clear that they were the decoys, and only to her discretion and regard for her safety would she be allowed to come (at that point anything sounded better than riding a people-killing-monster in freezing weather). She nodded yes.

Unknown to Mahiru (until that point) The Moonshine had an escape plan, head North to their second headquarters, if they were ever compromised. However, since one of their own betrayed them the Lunar Palace thought it more wise to bring them closer to home, where Mahiru and Keiko could be under twenty-four hour protection. Since Nozomu had no inkling to the new plan, or at least they hope he did, Oboro wanted someone as a decoy to lead the Vampire on a wild goose chase, hence Misoka. He had driven five hours north, Mahiru fast asleep, making sure certain, chosen, people saw him (witnesses were a good thing for wild goose chases). He switched cars—Mahiru protesting against the cold by means of disgruntled whines—at a checkpoint and promptly went back the way he came, avoiding the major freeways as much as possible.

She wondered vaguely, during one of their refueling breaks, if Misoka was indeed going to pick up stuff to fill the car, or if Mitsuru had said that just so she'd go with him. Her heart fluttered for less than a second. It was so subtle, in fact, that she didn't even notice it. Misoka never stopped for anything other than food and restrooms. When she realized this, her heart fluttered again, and this time she noticed (though she passed it off to disagreeable fast food). Yes, heart murmurs, had to be. Distantly her subconscious snickered, _rather be ill than twitterpated…_

She was drifting off again when Misoka pulled into a motel and turned off the car.

"Let's go find them," Misoka prompted as he climbed out the car into the stormy night. She followed, locking the door and closing it shut.

Silence… The snow fall so thick and dense sound couldn't travel far, even if it wanted to. Mahiru's hand found the pendant underneath her layers of clothing, worrying it between her index finger and thumb. Lethargically, she followed Misoka to the second level, metal stairs twanged dully as they tromped through fresh powder. Already her shoes were wet; she could feel the ice water crawling through the fabric.

Room 245, at the end of line…

Misoka knocked gently. Oboro let them in, smiling in his usual way. Despite the gold glow of the motel lamp, faint snores were coming from the beds. Akira and Keiko were huddled together, comforter and sheets wrapped around various appendages. The other bed was empty, save for Mitsuru, who was sitting on the corner, head in hands resting on his knees. A small plush chair and footstool rested in the corner of the room by the window, and a few feet farther down an open door connecting to the room next door.

"Get some sleep." Oboro whispered so low Mahiru wasn't even sure if she heard. Misoka followed him into the other room, where Katsura obviously was, and with in minutes no sounds came from where they disappeared.

Akira grunted in his sleep and twitched, before relaxing into Keiko's sleeping form. _Jealous,_ Mahiru thought, _I had that… kind of… before—_she stopped thinking then.

Mahiru sighed as she removed her snow-covered shoes; she'd been sleeping all day, longer even. The need to rest didn't exist anymore. Still worrying the pendant, she spotted Mitsuru, his hair a blaze of green in the low light. Her mouth twitched slightly. She couldn't deny that she was (just slightly) taken with him, had been for a while. He was sweet to her, she noticed, when he had no reason, but only ever in private—on the roof at midnight when he gave her the pendant, those two weeks she was in the hospital with pneumonia, and last night… when he let her cry. She knew too, that he'd been saving the motel bed for her.

However, as much as she liked him, she kept her distance, because he was the first one she actually _cared_ for and that scared her. A lot. Scared her enough to think that no matter how many things he said that made her heart beat an extra beat, or how he touched her in a certain way that made her feel all tingly, or how much she liked being around him, he would never ever feel the same way.

Better to let sleeping dogs lie. _No pun intended_.

It was hard though when he was right there, looking all tired and care worn, head in his hands sleeping soundly, saving the bed for her.

Mahiru was less than a foot away when she crouched down and brushed her fingers against his shoulder. He moaned none too happily, but moved nonetheless, taking his hands from his face. Mahiru smiled a little inside.

"You can have the bed." The moment her voice reached his ears he woke fully and met her eyes. Her breath caught, his eyes were so deep, sharp… so vulnerable. She swallowed down the silence, raking her teeth against her bottom lip, and spoke again just as quietly, "If you want…"

She turned off the light and moved to the chair, looking through the cracks in the curtains to watch the snow.

He was still sitting on the bed.

"You're not tired?"

She shook her head, forgetting that he couldn't see her, and then she spoke, "Slept the whole drive here." She picked up the pendant again, rolling it in her fingers, now that there was no light in the room it glowed as if it was alive, and Mahiru loved it.

There was rustling of sheets from where he was, and she thought he was doing what she said for once, until she heard his footsteps making his way over to her, finding the footstool and sitting down.

"You haven't slept much at all, you should sleep." She protested lightly, though secretly enjoying that he had decided to sit near her. She could sense more than see him shrug. He placed the comforter on her lap, and the proceeded to wrap himself in the sheets.

"We're all waking up at five thirty anyway, what's two hours of sleep gonna do?"

"You should still try." The comforter was now snug and secure around her body, nice and warm.

"And have you be the only one a wake? I don't think so."

They stayed by the window, talking rarely, but by the time five o'clock rolled around Mitsuru had passed out on the floor, and Mahiru watched as the snow finally stopped falling.


	6. Rollercoaster

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the long wait. I had trouble with this chapter; my heart wasn't in it. The chapter actually just took off in a way that moves the story along, just not in the way I wanted it to. That's what happens when I try and write through writer's block. Also, I wanted to give you guys a bigger chapter to read. It's not as big as I wanted (and there are more than a few grammatical errors) but it's here nonetheless.

Contrary to popular belief, I do not hate Nozomu. He holds a big part of the story, or will, later. He is not gone without reason, as you will see as soon as I get my lazy arse in gear. However, he will not make an appearance for a long time coming.

ENJOY!!

I have livejournal now!

**User name:** rayerei

**URL:** http// rayerei. live journal. com/

(Just remove the spaces).

**Summary:** Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care.

**Rating:** PG-13 (Rating may change in later chapters)

**Fidelity**

**Chapter 6: Rollercoaster**

"No. I know."

A pause.

"I can't—I'm—listen!"

A sniffle. A hand brushing away tears.

"I'm sorry, okay."

A tear.

"I'm _sorry_."

Breath catching, a hiccup. More tears to brush away.

"You don't understand. I can't come back. Not yet. It's not—"

Another pause, shorter. Grip on the phone, slowly growing tighter, knuckles white.

"—safe… It's not _safe_."

Someone walks by. She pushes her body into the wall, forehead resting against the cool painted cement.

"Please go."

She bites her lip.

"I love you."

More tears.

0

Mitsuru had been watching Mahiru for the past nine minutes. He watched as she called her aunt, the conversation anything but pleasant—a fool without an ounce of brainpower would know that.

It was amazing what the knowledge of body language could unlock if one chose to look hard enough. Mahiru played with the hem of the second baggiest t-shirt she owned while waiting for her aunt to pick up—nervous energy. Mitsuru knew the moment Mahiru started chewing her thumbnail her aunt had answered. He knew the moment Mahiru turned her back on the American-themed diner that she was distressed. It wasn't until he saw her vainly wipe away tears that his feet started itching for a walk, possibly to the little boy's room, which was (conveniently) next to the phone, just to see if she was okay.

_Nope. Nope! Don't move!_

However, his body and heart never really liked listening to his brain. As Mahiru placed the phone in the cradle and slipped into the little girl's room, he was just barely scooting out of the slightly uncomfortable booth, and away from Akira and Keiko's blatant, sickening displays of affection, when the waitress blocked him in.

Mindy, or at least that's what her badge said, placed their drinks on the table inquiring if they were ready to order. When she straightened up and began pulling out her notepad, Mitsuru attempted to leave again. That was until Mindy shifted her weight to her right leg and (not so conveniently) blocked Mitsuru's exit yet again.

He was so occupied by trying to get up for the next minute that he didn't realize the waitress had acquired everyone's order except his and was waiting expectantly for him to speak.

"What would you like, sir?" Mindy asked with an exceptionally nasal voice.

He cringed slightly. _Sir?_ He was only nineteen. In no way was it acceptable for her human self, or anyone else for that matter, to call him 'sir'. However, in light of present company (A.K.A. the entire diner and Mahiru, who was still in the restroom) he decided to leave it for another time.

"Two eggs over medium, hash browns, bacon, and white toast." Mindy nodded, writing down the order.

"What about Mahiru?" Keiko asked, handing over her menu. "Should we order something for—"

"French toast, with scrambled eggs and bacon on the side. No butter and extra cinnamon." Mitsuru stated, effectively cutting Keiko off, and, again, trying to get out of the booth, completely unaware of the awe-filled stares sent his way.

Mahiru exited the restroom more composed than when she entered, so Mitsuru decided that everything was fine and dandy, and therefore didn't need to waste his energy to see if she was all right, even though he had no inkling going to check to see if she was okay in the first place. He turned towards the window noticing five smirking stares.

Thoroughly confused, Mitsuru's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Nothing," all five said in perfect unison.

Not believing a word, he gave them a weird look before focusing his attention outside.

0

Mahiru trudged her way over to friends, occupying the far corner of the diner. Akira and Keiko were laughing excitedly, Misoka, Oboro, and Katsura talking to each other very mature-like, and Mitsuru staring out the window. "Blue Suede Shoes" emitted from the old jukebox, and floated over the diner's patrons; one waitress behind the counter was singing along adamantly in horrible English and nasally tones.

It would have been much more appropriate for Mahiru if the funeral march played instead. With each step Mahiru took towards the far table, the harder it was for her to keep the tears at bay. She had already spent the last three minutes in the ladies' room trying to compose herself after her talk with her aunt.

Not only could Mahiru not tell her aunt where she was, or where she was going with the Lunar Race, she couldn't tell her why. The only thing Mahiru was able to get out in the tense, upsetting, five minute conversation was the need for her aunt to leave town (more preferably, and much more safe, the country) for awhile under the pretense of going on an overdue honeymoon. If it wasn't safe for Mahiru to stay in Tokyo it was even worse for the only person left in her family. Dawn's Venus (and Nozomu—how unsettling it was to think of him as a threat instead of an ally) could use her aunt as a hostage to ransom Mahiru, the Lunar Race, and the Tear Drops.

Oboro had enlightened her of that fact this morning, and Mahiru all but begged on her knees to call her aunt and tell her in person. However, considering how the conversation went, it would have been better if Oboro had talked with her aunt instead.

Looking towards the ceiling and trying desperately to remove her aunt's aggravated (and extremely worried) voice from her head, she heaved a choked sigh. _God damn it!_ Mahiru screamed in her oh-so-lovely head that was beginning a second rendition of the funeral march. Tears were starting to fall _again._ Desperately she tried to think of something funny, but ended up with Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day, which was, more than anything, disturbing.

Mahiru was sliding into the booth next to Mitsuru—clad in a leather jacket, green shirt and blue jeans, which did wonders for his physique, and, no, Mahiru did not notice this (though, she so totally did)—when Oboro spoke. Mahiru stopped mid-slide.

"Mahiru?" He was worried, she could tell by his voice, which meant her attempts to push aside her troubles hadn't worked as well as she hoped.

It was then Mitsuru looked at her for the first time that morning, since he fell asleep on the floor, eyes full of masked concern. For a moment, everything she had desperately tried to let go and stop feeling, vanished. The first time in four days she felt calm, controlled, and happy, only for a moment. Only for a moment. Then it all came back as she finally sat on the uncomfortable booth. Breaking eye contact, she focused on the table top, worrying her fingers under the table as she mustered up the courage to, one: admit that she was wrong in wanting to talk to her aunt first, and two: speak to Oboro with so many expectant faces.

She took a deep breath; _it's_ _less painful if you just rip the band-aid off in one fluid motion than to pull it off slowly._ So, she ripped the band-aid off.

"She's not happy." Granted, she kept her eyes locked on the table, body shaking, and voice tremulous, but she managed to speak with six people dissecting her every move. She knew they were all staring at her awed, worried, and so god-damned-sympathetic it made her want to scream. She had done it though, and that was all that mattered.

"I'll talk to her today, if you want me to," Oboro offered gently, testing the waters.

However, three words in front of so many people and the semi-crowded diner, was enough stress for one day. Mahiru only nodded to Oboro before picking up her paper napkin and ripping it to shreds under the table.

The food came ten minutes later—by that time Mahiru had moved onto sugar shots—served by the terrible singing waitress.

Only then did Mahiru realize she hadn't ordered. Her stomach growled as she watched the waitress who couldn't sing (must it be mentioned again?) hand over plates overflowing with food.

"Um…" Mahiru mumbled quietly. However, she had nothing to worry about. A plate of food gracefully took its place in front of her, holding her favorite foreign breakfast with no butter and extra cinnamon. She almost cried right then and there from pure happiness. For the first time in days one thing in Mahiru's crazy, stressful, emotional-rollercoaster life was going right.

0

God damn it all to hell.

Damn it.

Damn it!

_Damn it!_

Stupid Oboro. Stupid _fucking_ Oboro. He just had to make Mitsuru's life even harder. It wasn't enough that he made Mitsuru follow _her_ around like a lap dog, made him _her_ personal "bodyguard" for the trip down to Kyoto (which, for the record, Misoka did just fine taking his place), now he had to fucking _live_ with her too.

Mitsuru understood the concept of twenty-four-hour protection, and understood that the Lunar Palace would take care of it all.

He understood wrong.

Oboro, being the sly bastard that he is, made sure that the girls were given twenty-four-hour protection. Oh, yes, he did. Just not in the palace. Keiko and Akira were assigned living quarters on one side of the city, and Mitsuru and Mahiru on another. Akira and Mitsuru were to be the girls private bodyguards for however long they were needed, as in however long it would take to defeat the Dawn's Venus and/or Nozomu.

It wasn't enough Mitsuru couldn't figure out his feelings for Mahiru in peace, now he had to be around her twenty-four/seven….f or days….weeks…_months._ He'd wake up and she would be the first thing he'd see in the morning; her lovely ocean blue eyes, musical voice, her beaming smile, her slender torso…

It just wasn't fair. The object of his desire so unbearably close, yet so god-damned far away.

Stupid _fucking_ Oboro.

Can't a man hate a woman he loves in peace?

Mitsuru growled as he pulled in front of Akira and Keiko's new home. Yes, a home.

Akira and Keiko, rather the Lunar Palace, rented out a small modest home in the hoity-toity neighborhood of Kyoto.

If God or any other celestial being looking down on Mitsuru had any mercy they'd give Mahiru and him the same _luxurious_ living-quarters… for Mahiru's sanity if nothing else.

Oboro's truck pulled up the narrow street followed closely by Katsura's van. Akira and Keiko parked nearby as Oboro and Katsura exited their vehicles. It wasn't until Oboro unlocked the front door and started unloading boxes did Mahiru and Misoka appear, eating cookies from the bakery down the street.

Mahiru (long, black, wavy locks of hair and sea-foam green eyes courtesy of a Lunar Talisman now hanging around her neck, powered by Mitsuru's magic) climbed out of the car handing Akira—disguised as well—a cookie. She walked towards Mitsuru with a cookie bag in one hand and half-eaten cookie in the other. There was a bit of chocolate on Mahiru's cheek and it took all of Mitsuru's energy to not walk over to her and wipe it off in some underlying suggestive manner.

_God damn it. _

He was not going to survive.


	7. Better Blonde

**Author's Note:** Here's chapter seven! Hazaa! I'm not too happy with the last section. Writer's block is my woe; I forced myself to write through it, so if it seems a bit stale, that is why. I'll be fixing it later, have no worries!

I know the story is moving a bit slow, because originally these seven chapters were supposed to be three to four chapters… My writing grew too detailed, but the way I figure it, as a reader I'd rather have seven chapters of detail, than three to four chapters of none at all.

Things will start picking up in the next chapter (hopefully, if I don't get too carried away).

Enjoy the Mahiru/Mitsuru angsty-fluff.

**Summary:** Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care.

**Rating:** PG-13 (Rating may change in later chapters)

**Fidelity**

**Chapter 7: Better Blonde**

Mahiru was not going to survive.

She pretended that everything was okay from the moment Oboro gave out the assignments.

She pretended that living with one male (an extremely good-looking male, but a male nonetheless) for god-knows-how-long in a confined space was okay.

She pretended that she didn't mind having her name—which her deceased mother, loopy with morphine, had joyfully given her—and her physical defining attributes that made her a unique and lovely woman changed.

She pretended that her hands hadn't been shaking during the drive to Kyoto.

Even though she pretended as if nothing was wrong, she knew nothing was right. Nothing ever was right for her. Now she had to live many miles away from the only family she had, in the same house as a boy she fancied but couldn't—wouldn't—_shouldn't _have, and dark, pressing memories of the last boy she trusted.

Fate didn't seem to be too keen on Mahiru recently, and she had a feeling it wasn't going to get much better. Misoka, sensing her distress, bought her a bag of chocolate chip cookies to calm her nerves. Mahiru ate them without complaint because chocolate was naturally uplifting. By the time they had reached Akira and Keiko's new home, Mahiru was feeling a bit more cheery.

Oboro had already started unloading the van when they came to a complete stop. Mahiru scanned the narrow street looking for a certain someone, convincing herself (horribly) that it was to check out the neighborhoodShe found him, all jeans and leather, leaning against his bike, with dark brown hair. Absently she reached for her pendant but her fingers brushed the Lunar Talisman instead. Mitsuru's magic was fueling her disguise as well as his, and though she found his new look alluring, she wished he still had his green hair.

Mitsuru's head turned slightly in the car's direction, and Mahiru suddenly found the paper bakery bag very interesting. Intent on helping, Misoka climbed out of the car and immediately began moving boxes. Mahiru, acutely aware of Mitsuru's eyes trailing her every move, clamored out of the car, balancing a half-eaten cookie in one hand and a half-full bakery bag in the other. She spotted Akira, disguised with sandy hair and steely, grey eyes, and after a bit of jostling handed him a cookie without a word. Keiko was inside, so that left Mr. Suave.

_It'd be a terrible start if I start ignoring him now,_ Mahiru thought, chewing her bottom lip. Hesitantly, she made her way over to Mitsuru, still lounging against his bike, showing absolutely no intention to help move. Their eyes met and a faint blush graced her cheeks. He was handsome, she realized, no matter what he looked like.

"Cookie?" She prompted softly, holding the open bag towards him.

Mitsuru shook his head, brown locks rustling back and forth, bangs brushing past his eyelashes. Mahiru half-shrugged as she moved to lean against the bike, desperately trying to cover up the sudden flush of her skin.

"Your loss," she whispered once her skin cooled.

Mitsuru shifted slightly, as though he had something important to say, but silence reigned supreme and the two rested for a moment longer. Finally he spoke. "You have some chocolate on you cheek."

"Where?" Mahiru brushed the back of her hand across her cheek.

"No," he shifted so he was facing her. "Lower."

She brushed her hand across her cheek again.

"Did I get it?"

He grunted in amusement. The chocolate had smeared over her cheek. He smirked slightly had he reached his hand toward her. "May I?"

Mahiru inhaled sharply, trying to calm her racing nerves. She did not like being touched. She had no problem touching others, but she hated being touched. It had been a peeve of hers since primary school. All her life everyone touched her as if she was St. Peter's statue or a live replica of Buddha, just so they could gain an ounce of luck. She hated it more so now because of what Nozomu did to her. He took advantage, betrayed her trust. How could she go about her life normally with such a heavy burden? Humans cannot survive without touch, and though she had miniscule qualms about touching others, ninety percent of the time, they were just as opposed to touch as she was.

But this? This was different. Mahiru didn't know how, but it was.

Mitsuru was entirely separate from anyone Mahiru had ever met. Pure intentions and fierce loyalty fueled his conscience; of course, thousands of insecurities people dared to say they understood veiled those foundations. Mahiru didn't fool herself into thinking she understood him more than anyone else in his life, but it was never a matter of understanding, just knowing, and she knew that Mitsuru would never hurt her intentionally.

Mahiru knew Mitsuru would _never_ hurt her the way Nozomu did.

Mahiru smiled slightly when she noticed his hand hadn't moved any closer to her face. She gave a half-nod and before she could finish the movement, calloused fingers brushed her skin as he grabbed her chin, and, for the first time since Nozomu's betrayal, no memories flooded her vision. Mitsuru tilted her head to get a full view of her cheek. His was a feather touch, light, and caring, his thumb repeatedly brushing over the same small area of her cheek. Somehow, without her noticing, his face had moved closer, trying to make sure all the chocolate was gone, and she noted dimly that at the close proximity his disguised eyes looked like Blue Ice Gatorade. Warm breath brushed her skin, casting shivers down her body like liquor.

The hand holding her chin tangled in her dark, wavy hair. Mahiru slid her eyes closed, savoring the rare moment. The thought that he might kiss her flittered by, but she knew better. He wouldn't kiss her in the middle of the street, in front of the all the Moonshine's residents, five days after her last significant whatever took more than he was given. He wouldn't kiss her because he dislikes humans, because he did not have feelings for her, _and_ because in no way, shape, or form did he have _feelings_ for her.

Mahiru sighed, half-out of frustration, half-out of simply forgetting to breathe, when Mitsuru's fingers slipped through her strangely realistic long hair. She sensed him move away, expanding the electrically charged space between them. Her eyes opened, and she found him rolling the ends of her ink-colored hair between his fingers.

"You look better blonde." His voice, low and rumbling, tumbled into her ears as he walked towards the house.

Mahiru stood frozen, thoroughly confused.

_Was that a compliment or an insult?_

It was then she realized that Mitsuru had been more than patient with her in the past few days than he ever had been before, and she was fairly certain it wasn't just because of the betrayal. He was too stubborn for that. Mitsuru wouldn't treat her any different had she been an amputee. Unless… unless there was something she didn't know about, something that was deeper than the betrayal of a friend.

Mahiru was determined to find out what it was.

0

Mitsuru was going to kill Oboro, that's there was to it. The next time he saw the old man he was going to rip him a new one, no questions, no monologue-ing, just a simple, bloody kill.

An hour before sunset, they, meaning Oboro, Mahiru and himself, had left Akeiko's (it was much easier to call them by one name instead of two, especially now. Akira and Keiko were no longer separate entities in his mind), arriving at the apartment building located in downtown Kyoto within a surprisingly short amount of time.

Oboro had left too quickly, Mitsuru noted, giving Mahiru the keys and a hurried good-bye. The sun hadn't even touched the horizon. So, reluctantly grabbing as many boxes as they could cram in the rickety old elevator, Mitsuru and Mahiru traveled up, up, and up to the tenth and final floor, walked down a semi-dingy, creepy hallway to apartment number 1010, and swung the green door open.

Now here Mitsuru was, standing in the doorway of their _one bedroom, one bathroom_ apartment, wondering at the audacity of it all.

Oh, he was _definitely_, going to kill Oboro.


	8. For Her

**Author's Notes:** Ah-Hah! I did it! It took me over a year, but I did it! I literally wrote this in, oh, about fours hours with no editing. If there's any mistakes that's why. Here's an update for your reading pleasure.

Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

L.P. - Lunar Palace

Akeiko - Akira and Keiko

**Disclaimer:** Crescent Moon is not mine. T-T

**Summary:** Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care.

**Rating:** PG-13 (Rating may change in later chapters)

0

**Fidelity**

0

**Chapter 8: For Her**

0

Three weeks passed agonizingly slow, considering all Mahiru did was look over her shoulder. Constantly.

Three weeks of no news, no updates, and no communication.

That was, until, Akira burst into their apartment, Keiko in tow, shouting for Mitsuru.

0

She was washing the dishes, soap suds flying over the counter, water coating the floor, and bright yellow rubber gloves squeaking.

It was the second time Mitsuru had left her alone in their ridiculously small apartment. Food was running low and they'd forgotten to go shopping on their way home from work. Since the store was just around the corner and the apartment in complete disarray, Mitsuru thought it more efficient to run there himself and have her start picking up. Which was all well and good in Mahiru's point of view, only because if she tagged along they'd buy more than what was within their means. What, with her chocolate fix, her cookie fix, her ice cream fix, her cake fix, and every other fix involving sugar.

Mahiru tried not to get too worked up about the fact _she_ had been left with the cleaning, while he searched for sustenance. She had even offered to go by herself and have him start picking up, before realizing she wasn't allowed to go anywhere without him. Nor did she _want_ to.

Mitsuru merely shook his head at her offer, said everything would be fine and he'd be back in ten minutes, grabbed the keys and his wallet, told her to lock the door, and promptly disappeared.

The moment the door clicked into place, silence filled every corner of the room pressing against her. Anxiety, slowly but surely, fought its way through her once calm interior. She wondered why this time she couldn't stop shaking, but then realized she'd been too angry the last time he left her alone to even notice she was in possible danger. Taking a deep, shaky breath Mahiru had attempted to focus on cleaning instead of how extremely _vulnerable_ she felt, and how exposed the open living room and kitchen made her feel, as if there was a bright red target on her chest and Nozomu was taking aim.

Resting a sud-covered plate on the counter, her heart hammering, Mahiru looked about the apartment for the umpteenth time scanning for any disturbances. She _hated_ being alone in one room of the apartment, let alone the having the entire place devoid of the of one man who could save her if things went south. She hated it because, without fail, her imagination always got the best of her.

Mahiru wondered if Nozomu would take advantage of this rare moment and barge into the apartment, an entire army behind him. Or would he slink in through the bedroom window and creep up behind her while she was otherwise occupied? Would he throw her over his shoulder, whisking her away? Would he taste her blood, force her against the fridge, and try to finish what he had started?

Or would he just kill her?

Mahiru had become an insomniac the past few weeks, scenarios of her own demise rolling through her head, one always worse than the other. Determined to not show any weakness, though, Mahiru had stayed in her bedroom (hers, because Mitsuru refused to let her have the couch and neither of them were comfortable with sharing a room) forcing herself to think of other things, happier things. Every time she did, though, she ended up thinking of Misuru.

Mitsuru yelling, Misturu sleeping, Mitsuru showering, Mitsuru walking with purpose across the length of the living room, grabbing her face, and smashing his lips to hers.

How strange it was for her, to fear a man so greatly she despised the touch of others, and yet want another man so desperately she prayed for any from of physical contact.

She was turning back towards the sink, picking up the half-finished plate, when, out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed the door slam open violently. Her blood-curdling scream drowned out the booming bang of the door as hit the wall, the high pitched crash of the plate she once held, and a man's demanding holler. Heart in panic and lungs working in overdrive, she tried desperately to move as far away from the door as possible. She stepped. Less than a second later there was a _whoosh_, and a second after that a thud, as she found herself on the floor in pain.

Mahiru must have cried out as she fell because she could hear footfalls racing toward her. She screamed again as she struggled to right herself and, again, as heavy hands grasped her shoulders.

Through her terror induced haze she heard a woman's voice, soft and smooth like satin, and recognized it immediately as Keiko.

"Are you insane? You've scared her half to death!"

A mumbled sorry followed and the hands were wrestled off her shoulders only to be replaced by the small lithe hands of a woman.

It was at that moment Mahiru realized she had her eyes closed.

A moment after that she realized she forgot to lock the door.

And a moment after that Mitsuru rushed in grocery bags in hand, rapidly assessing the situation.

0

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" Mitsuru bellowed to a guilt stricken Akira, who looked oddly pale. From where he was standing he could only see Keiko's back, due to the miniscule island bar "separating" the living room and kitchen.

"Oh god!" Keiko blurted from behind the island. Followed shortly after with Mahiru's own garbled "Oh."

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" Akira whimpered, moving towards Keiko, hands up in a pleading gesture. "I didn't think--"

"Get me a towel now!"

"What the fu-" Mitsuru snapped again pushing Akira out of the way, finally noticing the mess in the kitchen. There was water everywhere, and broken ceramic too, but that wasn't what stopped his yell. It was the steady flow of blood running down Mahiru's arm and leg, mixing with the puddle of water, oozing across the floor.

Now he understood why Akira looked so pale.

Flying to the drawer where the towels were kept he ripped a handful out and threw half of them to Keiko. She slammed hers over the gash on Mahiru's arm, as he pressed his against her calf.

Mitsuru watched Mahiru's face bunch up as the pressure increased the pain of her injuries. His heart railed against his chest, slamming his ribs, and fighting for a way out.

"Mahiru," Keiko started, demanding Mahiru to focus on her.

"Ow…" Mahiru was pulling her arm away from Keiko and trying to move her leg out of Mitsuru's grasp.

Mitsuru watched as Keiko reaffirmed her grip on Mahiru's arm. "I need you to tell me--"

"…Don't like being…t-touched…"

"I know, I know, but you're hurt. We have to," she reasoned, her eyes never leaving Mahiru's face.

"Mahiru, we need to know if you're hurt anywhere else." Misturu said, his voice rough and demanding.

"Um," She moved a little, as her head rolled back against the fridge assessing her injuries. She again tried to pull away from both of them but Mitsuru pressed harder on her leg and gripped it with his other hand. Vaguely, he registered Akira speaking in the background as he paced back and forth.

"Um.." Mahiru tried again. "My head hurts… a little…"

"Okay." Keiko said running a hand through Mahiru's hair, gripping the side of her face. Mitsuru suddenly wished he had commandeered the arm injury instead so he could be the one running his fingers through Mahiru's hair.

"Okay." Keiko said again, Mitsuru guessed, in an attempt to calm her high-strung nerves.

"Okay," he repeated because his mind was blank and racing and he couldn't think of anything else to say.

0

Mitsuru found immense pleasure in destroying things. Especially when they flew across the room and smashed into little pieces as they hit the wall.

The L. P. Medic Akira had called came and, twenty stitches and eleven staples later, went. Mitsuru was glad for the man's speedy retreat because he had to practically hold Mahiru down so the medic could do his job. Mitsuru cradled her until she dozed off and exited quietly to the living room where Akeiko lay in waiting.

How _stupid_ had he been, leaving Mahiru alone. It could have been anyone--anyone!--barging into the apartment. He silently thanked all the gods listening for having the barge-er be Akeiko instead of Mahiru's blood-crazed ex.

Standing in the entrance way to the living room, he scanned the area. His eyes brushed over the messy apartment until his eyes rested on Keiko, and then Akira.

Rage, violent and immediate, surged through him and he charged forward. Ignoring Keiko's protests and Akira's pleas, he ripped Akira off the couch and slammed him into the closest wall.

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING, YOU FUCKING BASTARD?!" Mitsuru hollered, hoisting Akira by his neck.

A wheeze was Akira's only response.

"ANSWER ME!"

Another wheeze and then a gargle left Akira's mouth.

"You're choking him. He can't breathe." Came Keiko's calm response from somewhere to his right.

Mitsuru ripped his hand away and, in the process, threw Akira to the ground.

Keiko ran over to his prone form as he struggled to right himself.

Grabbing the closest thing Mitsuru could find, he threw it at the wall, watching with satisfaction as it hit home. He blindly reached for more ammo, letting all his rage and fear lash out with each object thrown. It wasn't until he stumbled and fell to the ground that he realized he was crying. Not sobbing to the point of hysterics, but little tears threatening to drip down his cheeks.

Roughly, he rubbed his wrist against his eyes hiding his face from Akeiko, hoping they didn't notice.

He'd… He'd almost lost her. If it had been anyone else beside Akira he could have lost her completely. And it was his fault. He should have never left her alone. He had become too comfortable in the last three weeks. There was no news, no reports, no sightings, even, of Nozomu, that he thought things had blown over. It wasn't as if he hadn't left her alone before. The last time went swimmingly well, but he had only been gone less than five minutes, because they had gotten in a fight about his ridiculous (according to her) need to shower all the time and use every drop of hot water. He needed to cool off so he ran to the store bought some CD's and ran back. That time he came home to her attempting to rip apart the couch, angry and hurt, but otherwise unharmed.

He laughed a desperate laugh, one only used in nervous break downs, and brushed away more damned tears.

"Mitsuru?"

It was Keiko.

He took a deep breath and focused his watery gaze on her.

"Are you… alright?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because… _Because_…" Her hands circled in front of her, staring at him, as if the motion explained everything.

Mitsuru stared.

"Because Mahiru's hurt," she said, letting her hands fall, and then softly added, "and I know how much you care for her."

Mitsuru stared, blinked, and bowed his head stunned. It was that obvious, wasn't it? Everyone knew, right? Everyone knew expect the one person that mattered. That's why he'd been paired with her. That's why they all looked at him with pity and sympathy when she was with Nozomu, and with amusement and confusion while they were running, because he had a chance, finally. They'd given him a chance, and so far he'd fucked it up. Fucked it up to the point of almost _loosing_ her.

His heart ached, twisting and writhing, pumping blood harshly through his veins.

"Why are you here?" He was tired now, and all he wanted to do was go back in the room, wrap Mahiru in his arms, and _sleep._

Mitsuru watched as the couple exchanged glances, as if contemplating that now might not be the best time to deliver their news.

Keiko looked away first, then Akira spoke.

"The Northern Head Quarters have been attacked."

Mitsuru's nerves jumped to hyper-awareness. No longer tired and adrenaline coursing trough him again he fought to stay calm.

"When?"

"This morning."

"Nozomu?" He already new the answer to the question, though.

"Yes. Dawn's Venus, too"

"Is he on his way here?"

"Most likely."

"Most likely?"

"I think they were more worried about themselves at the time." Keiko supplied.

"We're soldiers!" Mitsuru snapped, suddenly more concerned for the girl sleeping behind the closed door. "We know what takes priority. They wouldn't have let them leave without a tail."

"Scouts were sent after them. As soon as they know something we'll know."

Silence followed. Then Mitsuru spoke again.

"Is everyone alright?"

He watched as they exchanged another hesitant glance.

Looking at every thing except his face, Keiko finally whispered, "The entire building blew-up."

Mitsuru's heart froze and his head swam, like he'd been dumped in a vat of ice water, spun around a couple times, and left to find the surface, slowly but surely running out of air.

Disoriented, he tried to focus on what Keiko was saying.

"…juries, I think… maybe, maybe they have… um… last we heard, seven… confirmed dead."

"They wiped out the vault too, so all the stones they found up North are now in the hands of Dawn's Venus."

"And they're on their way here," Mitsuru said letting the information sink in. Seven killed because of one man's obsession, and another's quest for power. Seven people he probably never met gave their lives to save the Lunar Race. To save Mahiru's life, because she was the Princess, because she was the Lunar Race's only hope. He would be forever indebted to them.

He looked out the bay window, into the darkening night and wondered how long it would take Nozomu to find them.

"And he's on his way here," Mitsuru restated. "For her."


	9. That Night

**Author's Notes:** So here's a part I've been looking forward to writing since I began this fic three years ago (wow!). I hope you enjoy this as much as I do. Plus you also finally get the details to That Night. Dun, dun, dun!

Oh, I am so clever with my chapter titles, let me tell you. : )

Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

**WARNINGS:** There's a bit of violence, crude language, and non-con in here. Not too much and nothing too graphic, but you have been warned.

0

**Fidelity**

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**Chapter 9: That Night**

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_Previously:_

"_And they're on their way here," Mitsuru said letting the information sink in. Seven killed because of one man's obsession, and another's quest for power. Seven people he probably never met gave their lives to save the Lunar Race. To save Mahiru's life, because she was the Princess, because she was the Lunar Race's only hope. He would be forever indebted to them. _

_He looked out the bay window, into the darkening night and wondered how long it would take Nozomu to find them. _

"_And he's on his way here," Mitsuru restated. "For her."_

0

"What are our orders?" Mitsuru asked the two still standing in his living room. Since Akeiko had relayed the news they all had been too drained to move. "What do we do?"

"Lay low, I guess," Keiko answered. "Go about our business like we have been."

"If we change anything now it will only call attention to ourselves," Akira added.

Mitsuru bit back his sarcastic remark about them breaking protocol to come here and nodded. He looked at the couple from his seat on the floor. They looked as terrible as he felt. "Why are you here?"

"We already--" Akira started.

"No, why are _you_ here? Why not Oboro, or Katsura, or Misoka?"

"Oboro said it would be fine, better actually, if we came instead," Keiko said. "Everyone at the Palace is focused on the attack and we haven't see you guys in so long."

"It's been three weeks."

"That's a long time."

A heavy silence rested on their shoulders.

"Ugh. I need a drink," Mitsuru announced as he managed to pull himself from the floor. He made his way to the kitchen, averting his eyes from the area Mahiru fell. It was clean now, bleached and sparkling as if it had never happened in the first place. He could still see the blood, however, no matter how many times they cleaned it. He could still see the vivid red against the bright white tile. It was too much like _that_ night. Shaking himself out of his morbid thoughts he grabbed a beer. "Would you like one too?"

"Why not? We're probably all going to die soon anyway."

"Akira!" Keiko snapped.

"What?"

"Please, don't say that." Keiko hung her head, tears in her eyes. "That's a horrible thing to say! It's just to awful, what happened to them… Just for Mahiru's safety, for mine, for the entire race. It's humbling." Akira wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "It's so sad!"

"That's why God invented alcohol," Mitsuru said, hoping to stop her from saying more. It really was too much to handle, his grief (and their's as well) over people they'd never met. He walked back into the living room with three beers. "So we can pay our respects to the dead and drink away our sorrows."

"How did you get this?" Keiko asked, feeling ridiculous having said it out loud. How he acquired the beer seemed like a such a trivial matter compared to the threat on the Lunar Race. Still, she was curious as to whether he was nicking things from the local liquor store. "The drinking age is--"

"My fake says I'm twenty-one."

"Oh."

"To the Princess," Akira said raising his beer.

"To the Lunar Race," Mitsuru said, finishing the usual toast. Then he added, "To the dead."

"To the dead," Keiko and Akira said in unison.

The three of them drank in silence.

An hour and three beers later Akeiko left.

0

Mitsuru (worn, tired, and buzzed) claimed his usual spot, not on the couch like he led Mahiru to believe, but right outside her bedroom door. He never slept, dozed more-like, making sure that the only thing moving in Mahiru's room was Mahiru herself. Throughout the past three weeks, he relaxed his watch over her in the daytime, but at night his watch never waned. There was a chance Dawn's Venus would make their move and he wanted to be ready. There was also a chance, and sometimes the more frightening one, that Mahiru could get up in the middle of the night--for a midnight snack or for the bathroom--and find out Mitsuru had made a bed on her doorstep.

It wasn't hard to avoid sleep, however. Not when every night he heard her wake up crying, screaming sometimes, from her nightmares, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what, or rather _who, _she was dreaming about. It took every fiber of his being, every molecule, and atom to hold him still and not barge into her room to… He sighed … To what? Comfort her? Or himself? Both of them? He focused instead on, if he were ever to see Nozomu again, how he would kill him, torturously slow and painful, to make him pay for what he did to her, what he would have done to her if Mitsuru hadn't stopped him.

Leaning his head against the door, he sighed.

He'd been trying so hard to not think about it, but barging in on his friend (ally, brother) drinking the blood of the woman he cared for so deeply was something not easily forgotten. If Mitsuru hadn't come home when he did, if he'd been a little later, she might not have survived. All hope for the Lunar Race would have been in vain, all his love for her as well.

What was worse even, is that he let him get away. He let Nozomu get away! Mitsuru hadn't been able to forgive himself for that. He had to keep reminding himself that if he had fought Nozomu, if he had hunted him down, then Mahiru would not have survived. He did the right thing by letting him go.

Mitsuru sighed again, this time to keep his emotions in check.

What had happened today was too close to that night. Hearing her screams, seeing the blood… triggered his repressed memories. Mitsuru had thanked God, or any god listening, again and again for keeping her alive.

That was in the past now, though. No point to dwell on it. Mahiru was alive, albeit a bit damaged but alive, and that was all he could ever ask for.

0

It was the day before Mahiru's twelve page research paper was due. The topic: whether or not Shakespeare's characterization of women was misogynistic.

Fortunately, for Mahiru she knew Shakespeare's plays inside and out.

Unfortunately, for Mahiru she hadn't spent an ounce of time on the paper at all. To be fair, though, she was in the hospital for over two weeks straight during Christmas, New Years, and the start of her second term as a senior because of pneumonia, and she was running around most nights trying to keep the Dawn's Venus from gaining headway with the Tear Drops. That, and she spent too much of her precious free time making out with Nozomu instead of studying

The last one was completely her fault, she grudgingly acknowledged.

A woman had needs! Needs that weren't being met in any other way. Nozomu was a more than willing volunteer, and she believed that was enough for her. What she was doing was wrong, and she knew that. She knew she shouldn't be making out with him in the first place, because every time she closed her eyes she wished it was someone else's lips she was kissing, someone else's body pressing against hers…

Mahiru had to end it; these little trysts they were having. End it before he got too serious, before she moaned someone else's name.

Mist emerged from her bathroom as she opened the door, the yellow light flooding her room, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Mahiru ran a hand through her soaking hair, dropped her towel, threw on sweat pants and a tank top, and plopped down at her desk. She'd been procrastinating long enough, she thought as she played with the pendant Mitsuru had given her as a birthday gift, grabbing the end of the chain and swinging the pendant back and forth in front of her computer's black screen. In the shadows, the pendant glowed, powered by magic, old magic that Mahiru truly had no concept of.

The empty house creaked as the heat turned on. The large grate in her room blew hot air over her desk rustling her notes. She sighed, relinquishing her reluctance for starting her paper, and placed the pendant on the edge of her desk. With a groan, she turned the computer on and started rifling through her notes.

"You study too much, love."

Mahiru jumped at the unexpected interruption, her notes slipping out of her hand and onto the floor. She whipped her head towards door to see Nozomu leaning on her door frame. When her door had opened and how long he'd been standing there, she had no clue. She hoped fervently that Nozomu hadn't seen her naked. The last thing she needed was Nozomu thinking their relationship was anything more than a few heated kisses.

Her hand twitched in irritation as she made her way to floor.

"I have a paper due tomorrow," she said blandly, gathering her notes, trying to put them back in order, and decidedly not looking in his direction.

Nozomu glided (_Always fucking gliding,_ Mahiru snapped mentally) over to her and picked up one of the papers. He looked over it curiously before reading it out loud.

"His hand, calloused and rough…"

Mahiru paled, eyes wide as saucers, as she snapped her head towards Nozomu. _No! Not that paper!_ She wailed silently, too petrified to do anything. She swore she had hidden all of her stories! All of them, every last one was jammed in her desk drawer under lock and key. Sickeningly, she remembered that her history teacher had been absent from class last Monday, and the substitute let them have a free hour of study hall in which she wrote her newest inspiration: a short story about unrequited love and getting over it by having lots of sex. All told in first person, of course.

"…ghosted over my thigh," Nozomu smirked, gave her a wink and continued reading. "I moaned, arching into his--"

"_Give _me that!" Mahiru snapped as she launched off the floor and towards his chuckling frame. She ripped the paper out of his hands, opened the nearest drawer and threw it in.

Nozomu's voice followed her. "I never knew you were so--"

Mahiru slammed the drawer shut and whirled around to tell him off, but he was so close, his face inches from her own. His eyes, dancing with amusement at first then darkening with desire, met hers. A shiver (_tingling, pulsing_) ran through her entire body.

"--Lustful."

Nozomu kissed her then, rough and demanding, his hands roaming over every inch of her body. Before Mahiru knew it she was on the desk, her legs parted and Nozomu standing between them as he licked her neck from collarbone to jaw. His lips, soft and smooth, found hers again, and she found herself wishing his lips were dry, chapped even, like the boy she fancied kissing. Nozomu grazed her earlobe and she bit her lip trying not to moan. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her computer's screen, the empty word document mocking her, and her notes once again strewed across the floor.

She _had_ to finish her paper. Tonight. Or fail. Mahiru _hated_ failing.

Gently at first (and, if she was honest with herself, somewhat unwillingly because she _really_ enjoyed what he was doing with his tongue) she pushed against his shoulders. She pushed again when there was no response. Once again she pushed, harder too, not even a second later.

"Nozomu!" She said, using all her strength this time to push him away, which got his attention, but didn't seem to do much else. "I have to get this paper done…" Nozomu dragged his fangs over her pulse point, she could feel him smirk as she held in her moan. "_Please_."

"Please what, love?"

Frustrated with herself and her raging hormones, but mostly with his new pet name for her, Mahiru growled.

"I don't have _time_ for this!" She snapped. Untangling his hand from her wet hair, she used her entire body to push him away and slid off the desk. "I have to get this done!"

Nozomu chuckled, and, for the first time in a long time, Mahiru felt the violent urge to strangle him.

"There's always time for a shameless rendezvous, love. Especially--"

"_Stop_ calling me 'love', damnit!"

"Whoa," he put his hands up in surrender. "What's got you so worked up?"

"Have you listened to a word I've said? I. Have. A. Paper. Due. TOMORROW! TO-MOR-ROW! And I haven't even started it!" Mahiru threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. "Because I've been making out with you! Half the time I don't even _like_ it because it I wish you were--" She gasped, realizing what she had almost said.

Mitsuru. I wish you were _Mitsuru._

"What?" He said. Mahiru could hear hurt and confusion boiling beneath the surface. "Wishing I was _what_, Mahiru?"

"Nothing. It's… nothing," she bent over and started picking up her notes.

Nozomu was silent, but she could feel his hurt, his confusion, his anger now. She couldn't keep doing this to him. She couldn't keep stringing him along just because she wanted to make out with someone and that someone wasn't available.

"I just think that…" She paused, wondering if this would be better to do another time.

_There is no time like the present, Mahiru._

Mustering up her courage, Mahiru sighed, relaxing her strung nerves and turned back to face him.

"Maybe…" She looked everywhere except at him. "Maybe we should stop seeing each other. Like this. I think it would be best."

There. She said it. Relief flew through her. She brought her gaze up from his collar bone and was surprised by how _hurt _he looked. He was utterly devastated and, Mahiru was sure, that if vampires could cry he would have been. Mahiru suddenly felt so guilty, so irrevocably _guilty_. She knew he liked her, a _lot_, in fact and she had used that to her advantage.

"Oh, Nozomu, I'm so sor-"

"Stop." His voice was cold. Direct.

Mahiru looked at his eyes once more. They were hard with anger, now. Piercing and--Mahiru swallowed--_terrifying_.

His neck twitched, then, ripping his eyes away from hers, snapped his head from side to side, moaning.

Mahiru watched in terror as he gripped his head, yowling, now. Howling. Something was _wrong_. Behind Nozomu, she saw her pendant on the floor, knocked off the desk when he kissed her; its blue glow bright and pulsing in the darkness. She was so hypnotized by the beating light that a sudden urge to hold it came over her. An eerie sort of calm washed over her, if she could just touch it everything would be okay. She made to move towards the pendant, forgetting for a moment Nozomu's blood curdling howls.

With a blast of air, Nozomu transformed. Mahiru tore her eyes away from the pendant, terror crashing over her.

"You're _sorry_, right?" Nozomu's voice was sinister, mocking, _lethal_. Mahiru shook with fear as his hands slowly released his head. He looked at her; eyes, now deep red, bored into her, making her skin crawl. This wasn't right. This wasn't _right._

He was laughing now and that terrified her more than anything else.

"N-Nozom--"

"You wished I was _what_, love?" He demanded. When Mahiru didn't answer he took a step forward. "You wished I was _WHAT_?!"

Mahiru jumped and backed away as far as she could until the sliding glass door stopped her movement. He stalked toward her, like a predator hunting its prey.

"ANSWER ME!" Nozomu roared. His hands gripped her shoulders and shook her. She cried out in pain as he slammed her against the sliding door and its frame. Picture frames on her wall fell from the impact and shattered on the hardwood floor.

"_ANSWER ME!_" He roared again, louder. His voice shook the floorboards.

Mahiru was too terrified to say anything. Her brain wasn't working and tears streamed down her face. She tried to hide the sob wracking through her body, but failed. Nozomu's grip lightened slightly, and Mahiru chanced a look at his face. For a split second he seemed so confused, then the moment passed and his eyes were hard once more.

Nozomu moved his face closer to hers and she sobbed again, this time not attempting to hide it.

"Wishing I was _him_, right?" His voice was low, sneering, thrumming with anger. "You wish it is _him_ every time I touch you, _kiss_ you… You picture _him_ every time _I _make you moan?"

Mahiru couldn't stop sobbing, because it was true. So true… Nozomu grasped her face with his hands and forced her to look at him.

"He can't have you."

It was so simple, those four words, spoken with such overwhelming truth, that Mahiru realized that she wasn't half as terrified before as she was now. "I won't let him," Nozomu brushed the hair away from her face, in a deceptively soothing gesture. "You will be mine."

He brushed his nose along the line of her jaw, inhaling.

"You smell so _good,_" he moaned low in his throat and Mahiru squeezed her eyes shut. "So _good_…" His arms wrapped around her, crushing her against him. His lips slammed against hers, bruising and painful. The taste of copper flooded her mouth. He growled with such power and shoved her against the wall once more. He took advantage of her pained yelp and kissed her again, reveling in the taste of blood. Nozomu moaned, euphoric, sucking on her bottom lip. His hands thrust under the hem of her tank top and gripped her waist, her skin so smooth in the palm of his hands. His hips rocked against hers, as he dragged his mouth along her jaw line then to the pulse point on her neck.

"…D-d-don't…" She managed to squeak before he pushed her against the wall, hitting her head on one of the picture frames that managed to stay put.

"Need to taste you…"

"Please, _don't!_"

"Must."--he gripped her waist harder as he rocked his hips again--"Taste."--Mahiru felt his fangs scrape her sensitive skin--"You."

Blinding pain ripped through her. Her neck was on fire and her screams went unnoticed. She could feel him, sucking out her blood, like a vacuum, with each beat of her heart. Her vision blurred, growing dark around the edges, and her screams faded down to nothing more than whimpers. A blue flashing light filled the room, blinding her, and she thought for a moment that everything would be okay. Everything would be fine…

Her eyes drooped closed. She couldn't feel the pain anymore and for that she was grateful. Nozomu was just a heavy weight against her chest, nothing more.

She heard yelling… It seemed so far away… Then the heavy weight lifted, and she suddenly wasn't upright anymore, there was a resounding crash, and then a rush of cold air.

Then everything came back.

Everything hurt. _Everything hurt. _

Her neck _burned_.

She was too tired and in too much pain to do anything about it.

Strong hands, comforting hands, _safe _hands moved her. She heard more yelling, more and more. So many different voices so far away.

A hand clamped over her neck.

She heard so soft and so desperate the pleas of a young man.

…_Everything will be okay, Mahiru, just hold on. Please, hold on. Please…_

She forced her eyes open and green ones met hers.

_Don't leave me… _

The only thing left was darkness.

0

Mahiru woke up screaming.


	10. Burst

**Author's Note: **Spent a week on this, still trying to convince myself that I like it. I'll probably go back in a little bit and tweak the ending a smidgen. Unbetaed, so if there are any errors that's why.

About Nozomu, there is more than meets the eye with his arc in this story. Hold on tight because those answers won't come for a while, but they will come.

For Mahiru, concerning her supposed weakness, she's been brutally betrayed by one of her friends that she trusted the most. Nozomu attacked and sexually assaulted her. That is very hard to overcome, and many people, sadly, do not recover.

With that said… I'd say we're about half way through the story... maybe I'm being too ambitious. One-third of the way through, rather.

Here we go again!

**Disclaimer:** Crescent Moon is not mine.

**Summary:** Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care.

**Rating:** PG-13 (Rating may change in later chapters)

**Fidelity**

0

**Chapter 10: Burst**

0

Previously:

_Everything hurt. Everything _hurt.

_Her neck _burned_. _

_She was too tired and in too much pain to do anything about it._

_Strong hands, comforting hands, _safe _hands moved her. She heard more yelling, more and more. So many different voices so far away._

_A hand clamped over her neck._

_She heard so soft and so desperate the pleas of a young man._

…Everything will be okay, Mahiru, just hold on. Please, hold on. Please…

_She forced her eyes open and green ones met hers._

Don't leave me…

_The only thing left was darkness._

_-_

_Mahiru woke up screaming._

0

There happened to be a most terrible noise emanating from her room, Mahiru thought, as she woke from her fitful slumber. It was loud and chilling, and terror gripped her. She gasped for breath and she realized that sound was undoubtedly coming from her.

For a split second she wondered what could possibly make her scream this loud, then she remembered. The dream, the nightmare, the constant recurring images of That Night and how, no matter how much she was told differently, Nozomu's betrayal was all her fault. Her fault he changed, her fault he attacked, her fault he betrayed them all. The guilt was suffocating. It seeped through every molecule of her being and controlled her every movement. With no control over her body, her screams dissolved into heavy choking sobs.

Distantly, she registered the bedroom door slamming open, bouncing off the wall, and almost falling off it's hinges.

Strong, firm hands grasped her shoulders.

"Mahiru!"

_No, no, NO_, she mentally wailed. She didn't want him to see her like this. Not like this, when she was broken and raw and so, so guilty.

Mitsuru shouted as he moved to her side, sitting on the edge of the bed, but over the thunder-like pounding of her heart she couldn't hear anything.

"What's wrong? What happened?" He wrapped his arms around her shaking form. She tried to push him away, but she was weak and tired--tired of trying to be strong, tired of being weak, tired of being alone, miserable, and guilty, and if Mitsuru could help her why shouldn't she let him? The fight seeped out of her instantly. On instinct Mahiru folded into his warm arms, resting her head on his shoulder, and burying her face in his neck. It wasn't enough, not enough to chase away her nightmare, but it was close. She snaked her arms around his body, dug her fingers into his back, and pulled him to her, and it hurt. It _hurt_. Her limbs burned as if on fire, and she thought that was a fine price to pay to be in his arms, because the moment his arms tightened around her thin frame, every ounce of pain melted away.

"Shhh… Mahiru. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here," Mitsuru whispered. Hot breath fanned her neck and sent chills cascading down her spine. One hand cradled her head, weaving into her hair, its thumb hypnotically moving up and down. His other hand rested at the base of her spine and the heat of it spread across her body.

Minutes passed. Eventually her sobbing subsided and reduced itself to small whimpers. Taking a steadying breath, Mahiru blinked her eyes open. She brought her hand around and gripped the front of his undershirt. She pulled on the collar as she burrowed deeper into his arms. She felt him take a deep breath and she followed along, letting the air flush out her fears.

His hand at the base of her spine moved, his fingers gripped her skin, and it was only then she realized his hand had found its way below her shirt. Not that it was a hard feat, the shirt was small and with her arms the way they were the shirt had most definitely ridden up. It was wonderful, feeling his skin on hers. His calloused hands were rough on the small of her back, and she struggled to not let that affect her. With all her best efforts, however, she barely suppressed a shiver, her breath, when released, was choppy, her back, fingers, toes tingled and she silently (so, so silently) wished that his hand would slide lower.

"It's okay," he whispered.

Mahiru suddenly launched back to reality, to why he was in her room, holding her so intimately, in the first place. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice like gravel. Her forefinger traced up and down the exposed skin of his chest.

"For what?" He murmured.

"For this… For waking you up."

"Don't be." She felt his lips brush her temple. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"Okay."

Mitsuru readjusted his body. Both his hands gripped where they rested, and the one in her hair began to massage the base of her skull. She hummed deep in her throat, and turned her head so he could have better access. He had talented hands. Her eyes drifted closed, and a sharp breath escaped through clenched teeth when Mitsuru hit a particularly sore spot. Her hands gripped him for a second, before she released her breath in a quick huff. Warm shivers traveled up and down her spine, spreading through her body, making her fingers and toes curl.

She shouldn't be enjoying this. Not when she didn't deserve it. Tears emerged from her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but they continued to fall. She watched through blurry vision as Mitsuru's tank slowly, but surely, soaked up her tears.

His fingers brushed over the scars on her neck. Her shiver this time was anything but pleasant. Bitter cold raced through her body as if she'd been doused with a bucket of ice. Her eyes widened and the feeling of needles slowly pushing their way through her skin appeared with a vengeance. Mitsuru must have felt the change in her, because he immediately began whispering in her ear, telling her that she was protected and safe, and his arms tightened around her more, if possible, as she regained her bearings.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. Her fingers drifted down to the wet patches of his shirt.

"It's okay. It'll dry."

"No, I mean, I'm sorry _he's _gone," Mahiru couldn't bring herself to say his name. She felt Mitsuru stiffen. Her resolve began to crumble; if she didn't continue to speak, she may not have another chance. "It's my fault. It's my fault he's gone, and I'm so sorry."

Mitsuru pulled away, and Mahiru felt her heart break. He was angry. She could feel it rolling off of him. She closed her eyes tight and more tears fell away. She felt his hands grasp her face and when she opened her eyes she was staring into fathomless green.

"It is _not_ your fault," he proclaimed emphatically.

She bit her lip, and her eyes focused on his collar bone, but Mitsuru would have none of it. He brushed his thumbs along her cheeks, removing her tears. He moved his head closer, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Do you hear me? It is not you fault. It was his and his alone."

"No, you don't get it!" She said desperately. Her hands gripped his forearms--funny, how her limbs still burned. Mitsuru tried to speak, but she cut him off. "It is! If I hadn't broken up with him, if I hadn't used him, if I had just… then he wouldn't be…" She paused trying to organize her words. "He was so angry, Mitsuru. I've never seen him so angry."

His grip was soft now, almost nonexistent. She averted her eyes and brushed her tears away. When he didn't speak for a while she chanced a glance at this face. He wore the strangest expression, as if he were someplace else entirely. She couldn't quite figure it out.

"Mitsuru?"

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why did you break up with him?"

Mahiru froze and felt her eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights. She didn't expect this. _No one expects the Spanish Inquisition_, she thought cynically. She couldn't tell him! She couldn't possibly tell him that the reason she stopped her relationship with Nozomu was because of her attraction to Mitsuru. That would expose her heart too much, and she didn't think she'd be able to recover if he rejected her. His presence breathed life into her soul and soothed away her troubles. She was stronger with him. She felt _alive_ with him, especially within the past month. The thought of it all being ripped away made her heart cave in. She frantically grasped for an answer.

"I didn't… care for him as I should have…"

Her inner voice gave a relieved sigh. _Good answer._

"Why?"

"Because my hopes rested somewhere else," she whispered without realizing.

_No, no, no, no! Are you crazy? He'll ask who!_

Her fingers tightened on his arms, and she silently prayed over and over that he wouldn't ask her who she cared for.

"Ah."

And that was it. Thankfully.

His fingers wiped away the rest of her tears before he dropped his hands, seemingly without thought, to her hips. She followed their movement and noticed, quite horrifically, that she was completely in his lap--her legs straddling his, her hips resting on his upper thighs. She gasped once the information sunk in. Frantically she moved herself off of him and practically flew across the bed.

"Oh! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!"

"Whoa! Calm down. It's okay," he grasped her flailing arms, bringing her hands together in his. "Stop apologizing and stop freaking out. You shouldn't move around too much anyway…"

"Okay… Sorry."

He shot her a look and she fought the strong urge to apologize for apologizing. His thumbs caressed her knuckles until her whole body relaxed. She suddenly felt so tired, and her burning limbs had somehow increased in weight. She unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. Her eyelids felt heavy and she tried very hard for them not to droop. Of course, Mitsuru noticed.

"Look, you should rest, and, truth be told, I need some shut-eye, so I'm going to let you sleep. If that's alright with you. I'll be on the couch if you need me."

Through the exhaustion now controlling her body, she barely heard the words, but when they registered her eyes flew open. He was going to leave her alone? She didn't want to be alone! Not after what had happened. Tonight had brought the worst nightmare yet. Even with her exhaustion, if he left, she wouldn't sleep. Her arm shot out just in time to grab his as he turned away.

"Wait!"

He turned back to face her, expectant.

"You can stay." What was she _doing_? "I'd like for you to stay."

Mitsuru stood there. His mouth hung open in surprise. Mahiru forced a slight smile.

"At least until I fall asleep." _Please._

She watched his mouth snap shut, watched him swallow hard.

"Sure," his voice was thick and rough, and it made Mahiru shiver.

"Thanks," she breathed.

She watched as he climbed onto the bed, and it seemed he was determined to stay on top of the sheets. She smiled at his chivalry. As much as she wanted to have his arms wrapped around her, feel his body flush against hers, she silently agreed with him. For her, that small separation was probably was best.

She burrowed in the sheets, brought them up to her chin, and scooted herself closer to Mitsuru. They laid there for awhile enjoying the companionable silence, both of them focused on the ceiling.

Just before sleep took her, Mahiru turned towards him, her hand resting on his shoulder. He met her gaze.

"I never thanked you…" She swallowed and scooted closer to his warmth. "For saving me. If you hadn't arrived when you did, I obviously… I wouldn't be here right now. Thank you."

Silently, Mitsuru turned and wrapped his arms tightly around her blanketed frame. Before he hid his face from her, Mahiru swore his eyes looked a little wet.

Strong and determined vehemently her spoke in her ear, "I would do _anything_ for you. All of us at the Moonshine would. Saving you was without question… It is, after all, in our job description." Mahiru gave a small laugh. "You don't have to thank me."

Mahiru smiled, reveled silently in the safety of his arms, and _slept_.

0

For the life of her, Mahiru couldn't remember what woke her up that morning. Maybe it was the bitter cold that made her hair stand on end despite being wrapped in sundry sheets, comforters, and blankets, or the loud string of curses from the living room, or the raucous banging of metal on metal, or the delicious smell of coffee wafting through the cracks in her door, or, maybe, it was the realization that she was alone in her bed.

She did remember, however, how--after having the best night of sleep she had in weeks (months, really), with Mitsuru finally in the same bed--how much it ached to wake up alone. She remembered, right before she drifted off, half-imagining how waking up in his arms would feel like. Would she wake up first and watch as he slowly came out of his slumber? Would she hear him talk in his sleep, maybe say her name passionately while in a dreamy haze? Or would he wake up first, but stay there in bead with her, holding her, shaking her gently to let her know that the day had begun? In her wildest imaginings, she woke him up by kissing him senseless, straddling him just like she did last night, but this time with purpose (in that illusion morning breath did not factor in).

Mahiru spent the first five minutes of her morning watching the snow fly past her window, small and violent in its decent to earth, mourning the empty half of her bed, and listening to Mitsuru's coarse exclamations of failure, and even less exclamations of success.

When she finally left her room, still in her pajamas (and wrapped up in comforter because it was so effing _cold_) , she cautiously made her way to where Mitsuru's voice carried from, and who, without a doubt, was _very_ angry with… something.

She saw him before he saw her. He was still in his pajamas, boxer shorts and tank, with clunky, untied work boots and a gigantic winter coat, the hood occasionally falling forward as he worked on the heater. If, in fact, it was still a heater. It looked more like a gaping hole in the wall with its parts strewn about the hardwood floor.

With a growl he pushed the hood back once more before clanging his wrench against some tubing and hoping to release a washer, or nut, or at least that's what it looked like to Mahiru. She tried not to laugh. She really did! But he was trying so hard and, quite frankly, getting nowhere. Only God knew how long he'd been working on the old thing.

He growled again, and Mahiru couldn't contain her mirth. Mitsuru whipped around, glared at her, and her giggles were disguised as coughs.

"Princess," he said before returning to the hole, "the heater's broken."

"Okay…" Not counting the fact that she'd already figured out the heater wasn't working, she was thoroughly confused with how he addressed her. Princess? Princess! He hadn't called her that in, well, a month. How absurd! "Good morning to you too… soldier?"

Mitsuru looked at her, " 'Soldier'?"

" 'Princess'?" Mahiru retaliated.

His eyes narrowed. "Coffee's on the counter, and I already called in to work, told them you hurt yourself," by this point he was back to 'fixing' the heater, "Told them that you and I probably wouldn't be back 'till next week. Boss didn't take it so well, but said as long as I bring by a doctors note it would be fine. How.. How are you injuries, by the way?"

Mahiru glanced at the angry gash on her arm, then the one on her leg. The stitches made her feel like a freak home-ec project, and the staples looked like they should be in a two-by-four instead her flesh. They didn't hurt though, at least not at much as they should.

"Good, I guess."

Misturu nodded.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Mitsuru said as he wrestled with some metal. "Why?"

"It's just that you're acting really weird."

Mitsuru opened his mouth to respond, probably with "I'm fine" or "Don't worry about it" or his signature "Fuck off, okay". Whatever it was it wasn't voiced because a terrible _BOOM_ thundered through the hallway outside their door. The floor shook and Mahiru had to fight to keep her balance.

"Stay here!" Mitsuru yelled as he ran out the door, surprisingly not tripping over his laces. The door slammed, but Mahiru could still hear exclamations from the hallway, women screaming, children crying…

That was when her heart stopped working. They were here! Dawn's Venus and-and _He_ was here! For her! And her only key to survival had just run out the door! She had to do something, anything to protect herself. Adrenaline rushed through her and she noticed that Mitsuru had dropped his wrench when he left. She ran as fast she could, discarding her giant comforter and favoring her gimp leg. Mahiru grabbed the wrench, held it like a kid at his first T-ball game, and waited. Her pulse hammered in her ear, she couldn't hear anything over it's thudding, but she watched the door carefully for any sign of movement.

What she failed to notice was the change in color and length of her hair, the sizzle of magic as the talisman she wore activated, and that her pendant was decidedly not pulsing a bright blue light as it once had when she was in danger. Nor did she see the slow, but steady, stream of water making it's way under the door, and she failed to hear the laughter of kids over the crying of others, and the splashsplashsplash of people walking though water.

The longer she waited the more coiled her stance became.

The doorknob turned and Mahiru sprang.

She noticed the rush of water first as it flowed into the apartment, then the laughter beyond the door, and the constant rush of water falling somewhere not too far away. She noticed all these things before she realized that she was, indeed, flinging herself at a disguised Mitsuru, who, to his credit, caught her hand right before the wrench made contact with his head.

"Fuck, Mahiru!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I thought---"

"It's fine. We're fine. We're fine." He dropped her hand and grabbed her shoulders. "They're not here."

It took Mahiru a minute to digest his statement. She looked down the hallway to see thick fall of water that caused the flood, children splashing through the hallway and avoiding their parents haphazard attempts to bring them inside. Mahiru glanced at the floor, now covered in inches of frigid water. It rose as it covered her ankle. "They're not here?"

Mitsuru shook his head.

"Then what was--?"

If Mitsuru was a bomb, he would have detonated right then. "Fucking pipe burst! I'm gonna kill Oboro next time I see him! Giving us this dump of a place! One bedroom! Can you believe it? One fucking bedroom! For TWO people! And one bathroom! There's never enough hot water, the heater doesn't work, the couch _sucks, _and now the main pipe for the whole building burst!" Mitsuru flung his arms in the air. "And I have to… live with you!"

That hurt. It cut right to her heart, slammed into her chest, and knocked the wind out of her. "Ouch," she managed.

Mitsuru pointed to his angry face, not hearing her. "I am one happy camper!"

A burst of laughter traveled down the hallway.

"I'm sorry living with me has been so terrible," Mahiru said.

"What?" He genuinely looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

Before she could answer, however, the fire alarm sounded and Mahiru grimly thought that she was saved by the bell.


End file.
